


Twisting Allegories

by noxic



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Ghost!Connor, medium!Evan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:34:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21691549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noxic/pseuds/noxic
Summary: Evan Hansen and Connor Murphy have never been friends. So why are Connor's parents convinced that Evan is the key to understanding their son's suicide? Maybe it's the incriminating suicide note with Evan's name on it. Or maybe they're feeling the same force that seems to have tied Connor's spirit to Evan's after his death. Maybe both.Well. Evan's never been a medium before. First time for everything.
Relationships: Evan Hansen & Connor Murphy
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	Twisting Allegories

**Author's Note:**

> Connor is a ghost. Content warnings for canon-typical things, plus occasional morbid and casually suicidal humor. Tread lightly.

“Connor took his own life.”

Evan blinks, his breath leaving him in a quiet, disbelieving puff of air. Suddenly, the room feels too quiet, the air too thick. Connor’s parents are looking at him like he’s a glass figure under pressure and he’s going to shatter at any moment. His eyes flick between Mr. and Mrs. Murphy and he tries to read their expressions. He tries to understand why they’re telling him this, why he’s sitting here, but his brain stutters to a halt as he pictures his own mother sitting in front of him looking the way Mrs. Murphy does now. His heart fucking _breaks_.

“He what?” he says, still clutching the letter ( _Connor’s suicide note_ , _they think_ ) with white knuckles, irreparably wrinkling the paper. Mrs. Murphy’s tears spill over. Should he let the paper go? Should he give it back? Should he say something? He has to say something. What does he say?

“This was all he had on him,” Mr. Murphy says. “It was in his pocket. You can see was trying to explain why…”

And then he’s reciting Evan’s own words back at him, his lament for his lack of ability to exist like a normal goddamn human being. Evan’s eyes pass over the letter again and again, as if he doesn’t already know what it says. His brain is moving a million miles an hour, catching on all the reasons they have to believe that this _stupid_ therapy assignment is all they have left of their son.

“Okay but this- this is not, um,” he tries to say. “I’m sorry- I’m sorry, um, Connor didn’t write this. Connor didn’t write this.” He hears the tremble in his voice, and hates the way his face heats up because he knows he’s fucked _everything up,_ just like he always--

Mrs. Murphy asks what he means and Mr. Murphy brushes off Evan’s frantic stammering as shock ( _of fucking course he’s in shock_ ).

He does all he really knows how to do and apologizes, tries to excuse himself while staving off the anxiety attack that’s already bubbling to the surface. All of his instincts are screaming at him-- _getoutgetoutgetoutgetoutgetoutgetout--_ that the only way to make it out of this unscathed is to _leave right now_ and spend the rest of his life trying to forget the sensation of crumpled paper in his fingers and teary eyes fixed squarely on him. But when he stands up, so does Connor’s mom, and his dad follows suit. Mrs. Murphy is pleading with them both, Mr. Murphy is trying to calm her, and Evan can’t stop _fucking apologizing_.

He thrusts the letter back at Mrs. Murphy. “Here- just- you should just, take this please, _please_.”

And then everything is quiet ( _except for Evan’s stupid broken brain_ ) and Evan hopes that maybe it’s all over. He can just walk away, out of their lives and out from under their scrutiny. He can just disappear like always.

Evan Hansen has _never_ been that lucky. Instead, Mrs. Murphy freezes, eyes fixed on Evan’s arm, cradled in front of his body protectively. “Larry, look,” she says, breathless and still a little choked up. “His cast.”

Evan’s eyes drop to the cast on instinct, and his heart drops into his stomach. Connor’s big, blocky signature is still printed across the entire front of the otherwise pure white surface..

“His best and most dearest friend,” Mrs. Murphy says.

_Oh no._

____

Jared, of course, is an unholy combination of shocked and ecstatic when Evan tells him. Which, of course, means that he’s absolutely no help at all. What the hell kind of advice is “nod and confirm”?

“It’s foolproof,” Jared had said. Evan wants to text him back and ask, _Okay, but is it Evan-proof?_

So now, he’s left with a little more than an hour until he’s due to be at the Murphys’ house with no solid plan, and no idea how the fuck he let himself get into this situation or how he’s supposed to get himself out of it.

His mind flashes to the image of Cynthia Murphy, eyes red and pouring out tears onto the cuffs of her sleeves as she looked at Evan and thought of him as the only connection she had left to her son. Her _dead_ son. Her son who had _killed himself._

And of course, there’s the sick feeling of secondhand grief that keeps twisting his stomach into knots whenever he thinks about Connor Murphy, whose family he’s about to intrude on during the absolute worst possible time. His parents hadn’t said how he’d done it, so Evan’s imagination was free to bombard him with horrible images of Connor, who he’d hardly even talked to, suffering and mangled in a dozen different ways.

Part of Evan wanted to ask how he’d done it, if only to stop the constant wondering.

And of course, he thinks about the fact that when he’d seen Connor just three days earlier, he’d looked so...well, “normal” wasn’t really on the table for people like them. But he’d looked...he’d looked _okay_ . He wasn’t _visibly_ unhealthy, and that was probably what scared Evan the most. It would be so easy to walk by Connor on the street and see a perfectly average high school student. Maybe a little emo and a little rough around the edges, but ultimately fine. He _passed_. He wasn’t like Evan, who wore his mental illness like a banner with his nervous tics and his slouching and his stammering. It was no wonder his parents had seemed so...shell-shocked.

Connor wasn’t like Evan. But they were _the same_.

 _God,_ Evan thinks. _I can’t do this_. When he had “fallen” out of the oak tree during the summer and lived, he had taken it as a sign that he needed to keep trying. Just for a little longer at least. Now, he’s sure that the only reason he survived at all was because someone in heaven wanted one last chuckle out of him.

“Okay, calm down,” he mutters to himself. He stands up from his bed and paces the floor, full of nervous energy that can’t seem to dissipate. “Just remember. Y-You and Connor were friends, you were- You trusted each other and… and you r-really miss him. You were friends. _B-Best friends_ , even. You were _friends--_ ”

“The fuck we were.”

Evan freezes. Turns around.

He _screams_.

Evan screams because sitting there on his bed, leaning nonchalantly against the pillow with arms crossed and wearing an expression of pure, murderous rage, is _Connor Murphy_.

Evan faints.


End file.
